


I'm a Brooklyn Baby.

by spaceboyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Bad Poetry, Clubbing, Daddy Kink, Drinking, Drugs, F/M, Hippie Harry Styles, Infidelity, M/M, Married Louis, One Shot, One of My Favorites, Rich Louis, Rough Kissing, Songfic, Sugar Baby Harry, Sugar Daddy Louis, brooklyn baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 16:50:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15514224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboyharry/pseuds/spaceboyharry
Summary: Harry is Louis’ Brooklyn Baby, his Coney Island Queen, his Starlet, his Harlot, and everything in between.





	I'm a Brooklyn Baby.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my birthday and I decided that for it I wanted a completely self-indulgent fic where Harry could be Louis' baby, and for it to be entirely based off of Lana Del Rey lyrics.

Harry was something like the classroom pet of a hazy underground venue where flirtatious whispers entwined with cigar smoke, both falling from the lips of men with too much money to spend and too little love to give.

He hugged the mic like it was the only thing holding him up as his voice dripped like Tupelo honey over the edge of a spoon. 

His eyes were half-lidded as he sang, pink lips dragging on the mic with every word.

His hair flowed around him like a mane, mahogany curls laid across the plane of his shoulders in a waterfall of ringlets. 

The feathers braided into his hair waved in the gentle breeze hitting the stage. Peacock and Hyacinth feathers caught the draft and rode it like the northern wind, just like they would in the wild.

Harry’s eyes blinked slowly and showed off the verdant irides beneath his delicate lashes. The pupils were blown from the low light and glassy from the liquor flowing directly from the wallets of men who came for everything but Harry’s voice. 

Glitter shone under the low lighting, freckled across the bridge of his nose and dusting the corners of his eyes. 

His shirt rested loosely on his lithe frame, unbuttoned to his navel and sliding off his shoulder, tanned skin bared for the hungry eyes of all who watched. The soft linen fabric was sheer enough to show every black line etched into Harry’s skin, painting him like a canvas. 

His black jeans clung tightly to his thighs, worn at the knees and tucked neatly into the ankles of his golden boots, shimmering in the crepuscular light . 

His lashes fluttered as he crooned the final words to his song, body rolling against the mic stand in a sensual waltz. 

As the final notes settled into the atmosphere, Harry’s eyes fluttered open and his teeth dug into his lip as the soft applause filtered through the audience, rippling like waves lapping at the shore.

The lights go up and serve to only enunciate the ethereal appearance of Harry even more.

His skin was aglow from a sheen of sweat and a spray of glimmer. Beneath the surface, the skin was a flushed a rosy pink, the blush spread across his chest and tinting the tips of his ears. 

His cheeks dimple as he takes a small bow and untwines himself from the mic, relinquishing his crutch to the next act. 

A dozen hands extend to help him down the stairs, sixty fingers that were laden with daddy’s money, hard work, and higher education. 

Wedding bands were forgone when Harry was involved.

The hand that was chosen’s partner was quick to extend a glass of pretty pink poison, the color of cotton candy and bubble gum sweet. 

Harry took it with a smile and took a sip, tongue darting out to catch the drop that threatened to fall down his chin. 

A hundred eyes watched as it did so, their own aching to meet with his. 

Under the attention, Harry preened and under his spell, another man fell. No one could resist the deity that was Harry Styles.

As he made his way through the crowd-a parade route laid out specifically for him- drinks, drugs, and beds were offered to him.

The drinks were sipped, the drugs were placed on his awaiting tongue, and the beds were turned down with a coy grin and a proposition of “maybe next time.”

At the end of the parade sat Harry’s throne, eyes sharp and a glass of brandy in his hand. 

With practiced ease Harry slid into the waiting lap, sinfully long legs neatly folding to make room. 

Now tucked away in the back at a private table, his endless pursuers back off, knowing damn well that now Harry was Louis’ boy. 

No one touched Louis’ boy. 

“Darling,” Louis purred, placing a chaste kiss to Harry’s glistening and bitten lips, “did you have fun on your stage?” 

Harry blinked lazily and laid his head against Louis’ chest, the rich scent of cologne and cigarettes going straight to his floaty head.

“Always, Lou. You know I love my stage.” 

It was true that it was his stage. A present from Louis, the stage and the building it resides in was Harry’s to use at his leisure, the establishment affectionately named “Brooklyn Baby’s.” 

Harry’s was Louis’ Brooklyn Baby, his Coney Island Queen, his Starlet, his Harlot, and everything in between. 

Louis pulled a pack of his signature brand from his breast pocket, extracting a pure white stick and placing it between his teeth.

Without missing a beat, Harry procured a lighter and flicked it on, holding it to the end of the fag. 

Louis’ cheeks hollowed as the flame caught, igniting the tobacco and sending it swirling through his lungs. 

Harry’s nimble fingers reached for the cigarette, getting promptly slapped away by Louis. 

“Uh, uh, uh, baby,” 

Louis gripped Harry’s jaw with a firm hand, squeezing. 

Roils of acrid smoke rolled from Louis’s lips to Harry’s, coating his mouth like tar. 

“You know you only get your fix from my mouth alone.” 

Harry’s tongue ran across his teeth, poking out as he grinned. Louis finished the fag with a long draw and snubbed it out on the tabletop, abandoning it there. 

He kissed Harry’s mouth with lips still shrouded with nicotine, the drug seeping into Harry’s mouth, joining the ecstasy already in his system.

Harry kissed back fiercely, hot tongue melding with Louis’ seamlessly. 

As Harry kissed down Louis' throat, teeth coming out to play, Louis’ hand slipped from the arm of his chair down to Harry’s lap, where it found a home against his inner thigh. 

“No marks, baby boy,” Louis rasped, hand tangling in Harry’s hair and pulling hard. 

Harry pouted but pulled away, licking his lips with a content sigh. 

Louis smiled at his baby and ran a thumb across the highlighted cheekbone, tracing it down his jaw and up to his swollen lips. 

Harry’s lips parted and the digit slipped inside, pressing slightly into the wet tongue waiting there. Said tongue flicked hotly against the thumb and teeth pressed into it, sending a smart of pain up Louis’ hand. 

Louis removed his thumb with a slow drag, watching as Harry’s lips gave way for the intrusion, spit shining on them. His boy was entrancing. 

A glance at the time proved it to be considerably late, well past what time he should have left. 

Harry followed his gaze down to his watch and poked out his bottom lip, huffing quietly. 

Louis popped his thigh in admonishment and prompted him to stand, rising afterward. 

Louis straightened out his suit the best that he could with Harry draped across him, lax and smiling dopily. 

As they stood together in the back of the club, Louis phone chirped softly from his pocket, sound foreign in the slow nature of the club. 

Louis answered with a curt greeting, wrapping a loose hand around Harry's throat as he leaned back into Louis. He could feel the jump of Harry’s Adam’s apple as he did so, a soft moan leaving his mouth. 

“Sorry love, I got hung up at the office,” Louis spoke into the phone, leaning forward to press a kiss behind Harry’s ear as he said so. 

“No, I’m not lying. I’ll be home in twenty. Yes, I’ll get milk. Goodbye, Hannah.” 

He hung up the phone and pocketed it once more, placing a small mark on Harry’s neck while he took up residence there. 

“I’ve got to go home, baby. You’re my best boy, you know that, huh?” 

Harry smiled and hummed in response, turning to press his face against Louis’ neck. 

“Daddy’s favorite,” he whispered, nose bumping against Louis’ jaw and lips warm against his neck. 

Louis placed his hand against the dip in Harry’s back and ushered him towards the exit, patiently pausing when Harry’s feet tangled and forgot how to work in tandem. His boy was a beautiful, tragically hot mess. 

In the crisp outside air, Harry’s head cleared and he took deeps breaths of air not tainted with overpriced cologne and imported cigars. 

He shuddered in the cool air and pressed closer to Louis, slipping his hands into the warm pockets of Louis’s suit jacket. 

Louis silently hailed a cab over and gently coaxed Harry upright. 

As the cab puttered in place, Louis captured Harry lips in a final searing kiss, biting and wet. As they pulled away, Harry pulled his hands from the jacket pockets and grabbed Louis’ left hand in his own. 

Harry smoothly slipped the golden band onto Louis’ fourth finger, situating it so that the engraved date sat on display. 

Harry brought the hand up to his lips and kissed the palm gently, letting it fall afterward. 

Louis moved to open the back door and as Harry slid in, said softly, “I love you, baby.” 

Harry returned the sentiment quietly, lolling his head to the side with an impish grin. 

Louis shut the door and gave an address to the driver, handing him a hundred and telling him to keep the change. 

As the cab pulled from the curb, Harry waved slowly from behind the frosted window. Louis waved back, watching the cab until the glowing taillights disappeared. 

With puffs of breath visible, he turned and walked to his own car, getting in and heading in the direction of his house, where his wife of ten years waited with cold supper and a fight brewing.

His home had just turned the corner in a taxi cab. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, how was it? I'm high-key thinking of writing some more Sugar Baby Harry.


End file.
